Ó Ed Mitchell 2007
The three
of us trekked down a tiny country road. On our left, the open ocean beckoned in
the late day sun; while to our right - beyond a stonewall- cattle grazed quietly
in a field. It was a peaceful scene. Continuing along, we eventually came to an
old wooden gate, whose edges were laced with barbed wire. In single file each of
us slowly slipped around it, holding our fly rod high, while being careful not
to snag our waders. Then we headed to the water.
At high tide mark, Hendrick stopped to offer advice on how to best fish this spot. Armed with that knowledge, David and I waded out and started sending our fly lines over the current. At that moment, I wasn’t exactly running on all cylinders. I had been awake for over thirty hours, unable to sleep on the transatlantic flight. So after a few casts, I took a breather, allowing the fly to hang in the current while I soaked in the view. Without a doubt this was one of the nicest looking coastlines I had ever had the pleasure to fish. Around us farmlands - colored green and gold in the fading sun - descended gracefully to the sea. While in the distance, dark rocky headlands hemmed the horizon. The air was cool and still. The only sound the call of oystercatchers circling a nearby sandbar.
I was about to pick up for another cast, when a strike caught me by surprise. The rod bent; the fight was on. Soon I was landing a good-looking fish with bright chrome flanks and an olive brown back. It had a large mouth and eye and a slightly forked tail. Immediately a smile registered on my face. Less than twelve hours after landing in Dublin, I had my first European seabass on a fly, the fish I had traveled across the Atlantic to meet. As I released the silvery bass back into the Irish salt, Hendrick gave me a thumbs-up.
Before coming to Ireland I had read up on the European seabass- Dicentrarchus labrax. I knew they were found in Ireland, and the UK, as well as a good portion of Europe, ranged widely from Norway around to the Mediterranean. But one thing I read really got my attention: The European seabass is a member of the family Moronidae, and related to the striped bass. After pursuing stripers in the US salt for many years, I was excited by the idea of casting a fly to its overseas cousin. Sounded like an angling adventure to me.
The following day Gauduchon bid us adieu. Along with his angling buddy Herle¢ Hamon, he had come to Wexford several days prior to my arrival and now was heading home. After the two of them left for Paris, Jim took me on a drive, so I could get a better sense of his coastline. It was an impressive journey. A good deal of the shoreline was comprised of rocky headlands, interspersed with sandy pocket beaches. Yet there was plenty of variety too. We also visited long sandy strands, bays, river mouths, and at one point we passed a tidal flat where literally hundred and hundreds of wading birds fed. In order to attract that many birds, I had to believe that spot was brimming with marine life.
Eventually Jim parked the car and we got out. He wanted to show me a spot we would fish another day when the conditions were right. I nodded and then followed him out onto a stony shore. Jim pointed towards a pile of large boulders - poking through the waves- some 60 feet out from the water’s edge. He said that big seabass fed around those kelp-covered rocks. That got my blood pumping; I really wanted to hook a big seabass. Yet at the same time his remark reminded me that stripers are sometimes called “rockfish”. It’s a fitting name; stripers love to lurk around rocks, for that is where crabs, shellfish and lobsters roam. Now I had learned that Irish seabass could be “rockfish” too.
Later that day - towards evening- Jim and I went out to fish. As we entered the
water, I heard Jim yell to me while aiming at the sky. I peered up in the nick
of time to see a peregrine falcon zoom overhead. I was really enjoying this
coast. Casting over the current, I allowed the fly to swing in the current. At
first things were slow, but as the tide flooded in, it brought seabass with it.
And as the action picked up, I was again struck by how alike seabass and
stripers behave. The situation before me was identical in everyway to situations
I fish back home. Shallow sandy bays, such as the one Jim and I were in, serve
as nursery areas for sand eels, shrimp and a multitude of prey. It’s true in
New England; it’s true in Ireland. In New England these spots draw stripers;
in Ireland they draw seabass. Yet in both cases, to find those fish an angler
must figure in the conditions. And that is what Jim had done, brought me here
when the shadows were long and the current was set to run. Yes, Irish seabass
and stripers are creatures of light and tide.
Along the Atlantic coast of the United States, unseasonable weather has become
all too frequent. Called it global warming, call it what you will, it is
something anglers must face. Unfortunately I was about to discover that Ireland
had experienced the same thing. The next morning a cold front descended on us
from the northeast. Daytime highs dropped from the low seventies into the low
fifties; winds jumped to over 25 mph and it rained hard. It didn’t take a
rocket scientist to figure out that this front might put a lid on the fishing.
Over coffee Hendrick confirmed my suspicions; this unusual weather pattern was
going to be trouble.
In the days ahead we fished during breaks in the wind and rain, but it was obvious the weather had nixed any chance of my hooking a large seabass. Yes, Mother Nature can be a cruel mistress. On the bright side, the weather conditions afforded me time to pick Jim’s brain about seabass. With his help I learned that labrax was an anadromous species, living in salt, brackish and freshwater environs. They live a long time, grow slowly, and reach a maximum size of around 20 pounds. Jim added that seabass undergo a seasonal migration moving into shallow near-shore waters during the warmer months and then moving away as winter approaches. In all I was deeply impressed with Jim’s considerable knowledge; he knows these waters as only a professional can. I certainly had the right guide.
I asked Jim about the season. He told me it typically kicked off in mid April, with the warmer months of June, July and August supplying the most consistent action. While near-shore the bass hold in places with both bottom structure and current, feeding on forage such as shrimp and sand eels. The smaller seabass tend to school together, and the larger ones are somewhat more solitary. The fishing continues well into the fall, and it is in September and October that many of the larger seabass are caught.
Nearly everything Jim had said about seabass would apply to striped bass as
well. And that reinforced what I had witnessed while fishing the Irish coast;
these two fish are cut from the same cloth. Both species use a similar survival
strategy, planning their lives around season, light and tide. To be consistently
successful, anglers need to crack this code, and then plan their fishing
accordingly. You must know where in your local waters the fish tend to
congregate, and then look to the sky and the calendar, as you figure in the
tide. Yes, it is involved game, but staying deeply in tune with the elemental
world is what makes fishing so fascinating.
On my last full day in Ireland, the front eased up a notch. So Hendrick suggested we take a chance and hike into a remote section of shoreline where the fishing was usually pretty good. Our journey began on a rocky knoll overlooking the sea. We suited up and from here walked in over a mile. At one spot, we worked our way around a rocky cliff; its face carved deeply by centuries of sweeping currents, while off in the distance waves broke over enormous sandbars. It felt like a land lost in time, a place few other fly fishermen had ever the pleasure of seeing.
Upon reaching our destination, we dropped our gear and sat for a moment. Next to shore, a wide rip hugged the beach, extending several hundred feet. Jim offered that these currents were often filled with seabass. As I studied the water, I had an odd feeling that somehow I had seen this before. It reminded me of places I had fished for striped bass on Cape Cod and Martha’s Vineyard. Yet it was more primitive, less tamed. There was no doubt in my mind that the Irish coast is largely an unexplored fishery, a true fly rod frontier. Without another angler in sight for miles, we eased into water and began launching flies across the rip. And I made myself a promise right then and there to return someday to these wild Irish shores.
The End